My Body is Ready for You, x2
by Anna Lane
Summary: Molly can't handle just being Sherlock's roommate, and he doesn't want to lose her coffee-making skills. M for 'mwahaha there's M.' Oneshot. Sherlolly


A/N: I love the Sherlock characters, so I tried really hard for this to not be grimy. That being said, there is a disclaimer that this will contain, you know, the stuff that happens between grown-ups that shippers like me really like. I can only hope it's not too offensive while not being boring. At the very beginning, it's not Molly/Sherly, so don't be too caught off guard, but know that it's coming. Yes, I used that word intentionally. I've only seen up to season 2 (season 3 is on the way :D) so any spoilers beyond that are completely unintentional.

**My Body is Ready for You, x2**

"Where are you going?" Sherlock flipped a page of the newspaper he'd been pretending to read. Without turning around, he knew she'd flinched behind him. He knew she'd be holding her heels in her hands as she tried to sneak behind him.

"Out," Molly recovered from the fright he gave her and responded defiantly.

"O.K." He hadn't looked up from his paper.

Molly gave the back of his head an angry frown before she left, slamming the door.

Sherlock's brows knitted together and he turned towards the door. He didn't know why she was always so unreasonable. She was the one going out every night and not coming home until well past three. Honestly, he didn't know why she tried anymore. It was unlikely she'd find the romance she longed for at some seedy club.

* * *

At the club, Molly surveyed the crowd of young people and looked for someone, anyone. At this point, she was so pent up she could almost go for young, old, male, female, but it was hours before she found anyone even remotely suitable.

She walked up behind the young man. He had dark hair, pale skin, and blue eyes. Perfect. He was left handed, dressed impeccably, and couldn't hold his liquor. And judging from the uneasy way he held himself with his friends he was the submissive type. A trust fund bloke with a brass-balled mother and subsequent mommy issues. You don't live with Sherlock Holmes without picking up a few things.

She slammed her body into his, spilling her cocktail all over her skimpy white blouse. "Ay, watch it, you prat! Ye got booze all over my new top!"

She glared at him, but he hardly noticed, his eyes were glued to the way her wet shirt clung to her chest and outlined the most scandalous bra she had in her wardrobe. "Uh, sorry."

"Well? Are you gonna buy me another drink or what?" She crossed her arms over her chest, breaking the intense eye contact he was trying to make with her nipples.

He didn't look too impressed, despite Molly's expertly applied, lip-plumping berry lipstick. If she thought too much about it, she knew she'd loose her cool. Just like the bumbling idiot she always became around Sherlock. "Forget it. Do you want to get out of here?" She said, very straight-forwardly.

"Just like that?" The man seemed surprised. "You don't even know my name."

"Just like that," she confirmed. "Quite frankly, I don't really care what your name is. I just want _one _night of incredible sex and _you're_ going to give it to me."

"That's-that's," the man stammered. "Right," he finished. "When can we leave?"

"Immediately," She fixed a bra strap. "On one condition."

The man hesitated, clearly wondering if he would be okay with it.

"You have to make me scream."

He eyes lit up.

* * *

Sherlock tossed a ball at his ceiling as he waited for sleep to come, but it never did when Molly stayed out too late. He knew it was statistically very unlikely for her to be in any real danger, but he couldn't help but think about it because there were always exceptions. After all, his interesting cases had to come from somewhere.

His eyes narrowed when he heard a crash and a giggle. He sat up to meet her when he heard the man's voice. He was laughing, too. Sherlock really wanted to get up then, ask them why they felt compelled to ruin his sleep, but something held him back. Compassion for Molly, he supposed. She had to know that she was never going to find what she was looking for, but apparently, she didn't like to be told that.

He heard them stomp up the stairs and the sound of her bedroom door closing. He tried to close his eyes and sleep at last, now knowing he wouldn't be taking the case of the dead Molly Hooper in the morning, but the noises stopped him. Not stomping, not giggling. The sound of a bed squeaking.

Sherlock really regretted that his bedroom was directly under Molly's in their shared apartment. Soon, the squeaking grew louder and Molly started to moan out various affirmatives. Very little foreplay, lack of the use of names, and the fact that they'd just met indicated that this would not be a lasting relationship. He'd have to tell Molly in the morning, but for now he'd let her have this moment. He wasn't a complete ass.

The squeaking got even faster until Molly screamed. The sound gave Sherlock a strange feeling in his stomach. It didn't last particularly long, and Sherlock couldn't help but roll his eyes at the man's complete incompetence as he gave a shout and the noise abruptly ended.

Sherlock thought that now he would be able to sleep, but he stared at the ceiling without blinking.

* * *

Molly rolled off the boy, still panting. She'd never been very vocal in sex before, and was just doing it now to get back at Sherlock for being such an ass. She was surprised to find she actually liked all of her moaning, however falsely it had started. She thought it had actually increased her enjoyment and her final scream had only been half-faked.

"Do-uh-do you want me to leave?" He asked her nervously.

"What do I care? I'm not your mum." She snapped and rolled over.

He sat up to go when Molly stopped him. "Sorry, love. That was cruel." She remembered when Sherlock had used his observations against her, how it had stung. Molly kissed his shoulder and swept her hand over his strong belly down to his thighs. "Do you want me to be your mummy?" She whispered in his ear, softly biting the lobe.

The boy didn't look completely averse, but he was still unsure. Molly let her hand drift lower to fondle him and pushed him back on his back. "Sssh," she said when he protested. "Let Mommy take care of you, baby." She kissed a trail until she came to his prick, and continued kissing and sucking and stroking until he was hard again.

She sighed with pleasure. Young boys really did have their perks. She climbed on him once more and settled into his lap before she began to ride him, all the while picturing a different dark-haired man beneath her. Her moans were even more ardent than the first time and since they were both still tender from the first time, they had to take it slower.

She rode him, smiling and groaning and kissing him as she tugged his hair and called him 'baby.' Her shriek was completely real this time and she imagined it was Sherlock crying out beneath her. She tipped over next to her young lover and smirked. "Thank you," she panted.

He just laughed. "That was, wow."

"Yeah," she fell asleep, content and dreaming it was Sherlock's arms around her.

* * *

Sherlock was impressed. No, impressed was not the right word. He was irritated. How dare they think to copulate and interrupt his sleep not once, but _twice_? It took him a long time to fall asleep after that, and when he did, he had disturbing dreams. In one such instance, he was naked with only a ladies' lab coat to cover himself while Molly stood there in her raspberry lipstick and mocked him.

He woke up completely unrested, and hearing Molly hum as she made coffee was making his mood worse. His sense of smell indicated she'd already eaten and done the laundry, probably the sheets, considering her escapades last night. He walked into the kitchen in just his sheet and she smiled as she handed him his coffee. He took a sip and spit it back out. "Ugh. Terrible."

"What?" She exclaimed. "It's just the way you take it!"

"Well, it's not good this morning." He informed her as he took it with him into the dining area.

Just like that, Molly's good mood was gone. Not only because he was being completely obnoxious, but he had come out in just his sheet. _Again._ Her tryst last night didn't seem to have worked because she still wanted him madly. Maybe even more than usual.

She was headed back to her room, but hesitated at the doorway.

"He won't be calling," Sherlock said, sipping his coffee.

Molly glanced at him. "Who? What?"

"The man you met last night. He's not interested in a long-term relationship. You really shouldn't have been so gullible." His face didn't change.

Her cheeks flared up and she was so mad she could have cried. "I can't stay here, anymore." She told him. "It was kind of you to offer, but—" she shook her head. She did appreciate the gesture, it was one she'd never expected of Sherlock. After she'd been fired for helping fake his death, she couldn't afford to keep her apartment. And she hadn't told him. He just knew. He always knew.

"Not if you keep bringing men over," Sherlock agreed.

"Man," she denied. "It was _one _man!"

"What made this one special enough to be the one Molly Hooper let into her bed? Did he tell you that your eyes glittered? That your laugh was like an angel's fluttering wings?" He mocked, his blue eyes cutting her deep as they rolled up.

"Oh, you prick! I'd rather be homeless than live with you!" She screamed.

He feigned interest and stood straight up. "Oh, really? I know some people that could get you a very nice darkened, damp alley. Prime real estate." He looked down and realized his sheet had slipped. He hastily plucked it back up and covered himself, but he didn't miss the way Molly had stared. "Rude," he said.

She sputtered and blushed as she tried to find words and erase the image from her head. If she thought she was doomed before, she was hopeless now. "Good!" She finally spat. "I'll give them a ring!" She stomped up the stairs, her stomach still quivering.

Sherlock followed her. "It's completely unfair of you, you know?" He accused. "Do you know how hard it will be to find a new roommate who'll brew my coffee just right?"

"Whatever, mine sucks anyway." She continued to her room.

"You'll get better," he said with encouragement.

"I don't want it better! I want out!" She slammed the door, but he'd lodged his foot in the way of the frame.

"Molly, I'm just trying to tell you to give up your irrational quest for love, it's foolish and—" Sherlock tried to be very reasonable.

"For God's sake, will you put something decent on?" Molly threw her hands up and started throwing her clothes into a trunk.

He walked closer to her to dump out the trunk even as she was filling it. "Molly, just admit that you won't find love—"

Molly pushed him back, her hands tingling when they touched his flesh. "What makes you think I was looking for love?"

He went a step back out of surprise more than from her force, but he angrily stepped even closer than before to compensate. His anger left him as he found he didn't understand. "What?"

"I wanted _sex_, you idiot."

He really looked at her. "Hmm. Yes, you do have an unfulfilled air about you. Sexual frustration, of course, how could I have missed it?" He looked at her as if he knew all her secrets and it pleased him.

Molly let out a muffled scream. "You're driving me insane, you know that? I can't stay here!"

"Why?" He asked, genuinely confused. "I promise I will be more—discrete in my knowledge of your personal affairs."

"You _are_ the problem, Sherlock. Walking around half-naked, playing your stupid violin, having that stupid face! I can't stay here!"

"You want me," he accused, seeming pleased.

"No shit, Sherlock! And I'm leaving. I need to be somewhere less—what did you call it? Unfulfilled." She put her clothes back in the trunk.

Sherlock's mind worked quickly. He hated living alone and she was the only one besides Watson he could imagine living here. He knew she liked him, and that could pose a potential problem, but for now she claimed to only need sex. It was selfish on his part and could pose problems later on, but Sherlock had already killed himself being unselfish. He figured he deserved some self-interest. And he _really_ liked her coffee.

Molly was so busy packing that she didn't notice him at first. But finally she glanced out at him and saw he was naked. Her mouth dropped.

He flopped down on her clean bed and put his arms behind his head. "If sex was all you wanted, you could have just asked me," he said easily.

Molly looked around, her thin lips still gaping like a fish. Was she dreaming? "You must be joking," she thought aloud, mocking her like he always did. She tried to look anywhere but his naked body on her bed.

"No, you may have your way with me," Sherlock said, bored.

Molly narrowed her eyes. How dare he act so disinterested? If she had him—and she was currently very much of the mind of having him—she would make sure he fell apart at his very seams. "Oh, really?" She crossed her arms and gave his whole body an appraisal. Why not? she was beginning to think. He looked even better naked on her bed than he had when his sheet simply slipped.

"Yes," he said in a relaxed manner. "My body is ready." He closed his eyes and looked for all the world like he was about to take a nap, with his head still resting on his arms.

Molly could have shaken him she was so infuriated by his manner. This was the day she'd dreamt about, and he thought he would close his eyes and nap through it? "I'd say you're far from ready," she scoffed as she stared at his flaccidity.

His eyes snapped open and Molly could read the affront in them. His eyes widened at her predatory look.

"You are hardly ready," she said again, "but you will be." She promised. She stripped and felt a stab of irritation when he closed his eyes once more.

She wasted no time crawling onto the bed and over him, but instead of touching him, her lips hovered over his. She inhaled when he exhaled, anticipation filling her when she took in the coffee, creamer, and sugar. She lightly pressed her lips to his.

He didn't respond, but that hardly bothered her. She'd had so many fantasies just like this, where he was naked helpless and hers. She sat on his stomach, her most naked and intimate places against his hard abs. She ran her hands adoringly over his face and through his hair, tracing his cheekbones and tugging when she felt the urge. She smoothed her fingers over his eyebrows and lips. She especially loved the way her hands could perfectly cup his jaw. She feathered more kisses on him, everywhere she touched.

She trailed over his smooth, strong neck. She giggled when she felt a pulse; she wasn't used to that. He twitched when he heard the noise, but still didn't open his eyes. She played with his shoulders and lightly brushed the backs of his arms where they were still crossed beneath his head. His arms broke in goose bumps. She would've liked to hold his hands in hers, just once, but decided she wouldn't push it.

She touched the top of his chest and massaged just to feel the tight muscle beneath his skin, but then stopped just short of his nipples.

Sherlock tried to distance himself. He thought of anything, of everything, but he kept coming back to Molly's light touches. And when she stopped he couldn't think of anything else. It was so warm where she sat on his stomach. Why hadn't she continued? He fought to keep the frown from showing on his face.

Small, little mews were coming from her mouth and Sherlock could feel her hips lightly gyrating against him. She gasped and her movements became faster. Sherlock couldn't help himself; he opened his eyes. His mouth dried instantly. Her eyes were closed as she rocked against him and played with her breasts. "What are you doing?" He demanded.

She peeked at him with a toothy smile as she continued to work her hands. "Foreplay, Sherlock. Since you aren't doing much, I have to get myself ready somehow." She pinched her hardened nipples and gave a small cry of delight.

"I-I could do that," he offered indifferently.

Molly's hands dropped to the sides of his stomach. "Please," she said.

His hands came from behind his head to touch her, he stilled for a moment, wondering at their weight and delighting in their feel. Then his thumbs started working her and her eyes nearly rolled back with pleasure.

"Oh, Sherlock, that feels so good!" She arched her body into his hands. One of her hands dropped to where she was now rubbing against Sherlock fervently and she felt how wet she was. Her fingers quickly got to work.

"I can do that better," he grumbled and sat up.

Before Molly knew what he was talking about, his hand replaced hers and she was riding his fingers in earnest as she cried out. One hand went to the back of her neck and pulled her in for a kiss. Molly tightened and spasmed when he added his lips to hers. It was all she'd ever really wanted and it was better than she could've imagined. He was so insistent and sure. His mouth moved perfectly against hers and she screamed while he was still against her lips.

He withdrew. "Are you okay?"

His blue eyes were filled with concern for her, his brow flawlessly folded. "Mah," was all she could really say, so she pulled him in for another kiss and broke out in shivers when he responded. "So, so good. So much better," she whispered into his mouth.

Her eyes were closed, but she could feel him smile against her lips. She nuzzled her nose against his before pulling away to look behind her. He was completely hard. She grinned as she slid down his body so that her mouth was next to his member.

He looked alarmed. "Don't worry, I won't bite," she assured. "Unless you want." She grinned.

Sherlock tried to look at the ceiling as she started to lick him softly, all over. Then, a bit harder, again and again, just licking and kissing. His jaw locked. She took him in her mouth for the first time and his hands bunched in the sheets fiercely.

It was too much. He had to look, to watch. And the sight almost made him loose control, but she pulled back at the last possible moment and his pulse calmed a little. "There, now we're both wet," she said as she licked her lips.

"Yes, erm—" He couldn't finish, because she wasted no time in guiding him to her entrance. It was a tight fit, but she was slowly sinking onto him. Or was he sinking into her? He closed his eyes tight as she started to rock and thrust.

"Please," she gulped in air, "Please, I want to see your eyes."

He opened them and was glad he did. It was an image he would take to the grave. Her body was rocking above him, her hands on his shoulders for support, her face in ecstasy as she stared at him. He suddenly grabbed her close and kissed her furiously.

She seemed to like that as she tightened impossibly around him and moaned into his mouth. He bucked helplessly until he finally felt himself explode and pump into her. "Molly," he sighed. He held her close, as if the closer her skin was to him, the longer the high would last. Sherlock fell back, still holding her close. His chest was rumbling with light laughter. "I want to go again," he insisted.

"Again? Already?" She panted.

"Yes," Sherlock flipped them over and gave her a devilish grin that reached his eyes. "My body is ready for you."

She laughed as his mouth closed in for a kiss.


End file.
